


The Sacred War

by Minyron



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, Communism, F/M, Fascism vs Communism, German Theo Raeken, Mild Gore, Nazis, Pain, Philosophy, Psychological Torture, Russian Lydia Martin, Torture, Vampire Lydia Martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-10 01:22:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5563315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minyron/pseuds/Minyron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elaboration on a part of <a>The Defeat of the Will</a>, which is in turn the last part of its series.  </p><p>As a stand-alone, mostly gore and whump, and heavy referencing. Warnings for Nazism, Communism and violent kinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sacred War

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aleska](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aleska/gifts).



> Happy belated birthday :3!

The late nights of May were still chilly, but Lydia felt nothing as she closed the window in the spacious, ruined living room. She'd chosen for them to remain hidden in the avenue for the time being. It was discreet, a floor high enough not to be bothered by the humans below. She looked outside and nonetheless saw the streets were deserted. Some of the floors in their building and the opposite were directly open to the night air, walls destroyed by the incessant bombings. Berlin had fallen.

Like she had the previous night, Lydia waited, even after Theo noticed she was awake. She needed to press his buttons to the maximum, and that included prolonging his uncertainty and suffering. That way, he'd break sooner. The werewolf had been unable to sleep, after all; the electricity had made sure of that. However, he was too distraught and exhausted to notice her until she walked right past him, making him stir. She didn't look back, heading towards the kitchen instead.

There, she waited for half an hour. It only took her five minutes to put the silver colloid together, and even that she wouldn't use until much later. So had time, so she sat in a chair. Zamiel climbed up on the table, staring at her intently and tilting his head. He placed both paws together as he sat straight up, appearing taller. It looked like a question.

"It's not that I like it", she told the cat impassive, "but it has to be done".

She put her hand on the table, and Zamiel didn't move away. She uncrossed her legs, reaching forward to pet him. The cat followed her hovering hand with skepticism, but finally let himself be touched. She gave the little feline a smile that didn't reach her eyes, and dragged her thumb close to his whiskers before taking it off. The cat slumped on the table, relaxed, apparently having decided it was time for a nap.

For her, however, it was time to work. Right now, she was an interrogator against the Reich. 

She stood up straight, put her hair in a ponytail and walked out of the kitchen. The door was open, because she'd been keeping an eye for movement in the living room. There had been none. Theo's head was down, and an aura of defeats surrounded him. He didn't care. Not for now, at least, with barely any pain.

The first thing she did when she got close enough was turning off the power. The wolf let out a sigh of relief, but looked at her with an admixture of contempt and apprehension. He was restrained, silver chains tying him to solid wooden beams in the room; cuffs in his arms and ankles. She knew he would feel beyond uncomfortable, but he probably had a high tolerance to pain and manifested mostly apathy. She'd left his boots and pants on, but his upper body was bare, glistening in the moonlight with a thin sheen of sweat. A sign of the strain the persistent current effected on his muscles.

His body was well defined, and she couldn't help but notice the tension under his skin. Her stare traced his biceps, his strong shoulders. She was only a few years older than him, having been converted into a vampire in their era. And to be fair, she did find him physically appealing, but that was not her priority. What really called her attention was that he looked even younger, now that his expression wasn't aggressive; unguarded, even _gentle_. It made Stiles's inner conflicts all the more obvious. Coming to love a monster brought only pain and misery. However, that's what she'd resigned Stiles's life to be now, the moment she turned him, and he knew.

He'd deal with it, and she'd deal with Theo. She was pulled out of her train of thought when Theo croaked a few words.

"Water, please", he asked, eyes lost. 

A chuckle threatened to surface, but she just raised the corner of her mouth in an amused smirk. Water? She'd expected for him to turn into himself, surrender again. For defeat to break him. Perhaps the boy was too vital for his own good.

Making him upset was the most useful course of action for her right now. To awaken his rage, she chose to ignore him. She sang, instead. 

" _Вставай, страна огромная,_  
_Вставай на смертный бой_  
_С фашистской силой тёмною,_  
_С проклятою ордой._ "

(Arise, vast country,  
Arise for a fight to the death  
Against the dark fascist forces,  
Against the cursed hordes.)

Lydia's rising, melodic voice filled the room.

He frowned, not understanding the Russian words. She pulled a skinning knife out from its sheath in her belt, and dragged it up his belly and chest, through the midline, all the way from his navel to the hollow over his chestbone. He looked down while the angle allowed it, appearing surprised, and his frown became one of anger. Their gazes locked when he looked into her empty, beautiful grey eyes. Something like betrayal reflected on his own, irrationally. She assumed it must be an act, that he could not really be that oblivious to what expected him.

It didn't matter ultimately, though, because there was no place for mercy.

" _Пусть ярость благородная_  
_Вскипает, как волна!_  
_Идёт война народная,_  
_Священная война!"_

(Let noble wrath  
Boil over like a wave!  
This is the peoples' war,  
a sacred war!)

She raised her voice to drown out his increasingly labored breathing, the tip of the knife turned upward. She applied just a light pressure. She scratched his skin, but nothing more dramatic than the warning. 

 _"Священная война!"_ , she repeated suddenly, raising her eyebrows. She pushed the knife in.

Theo's pupils were blown as he coughed violently, his airway threatening to collapse. She'd cut through the cartilage, and the metal was inside his body. He was panicking, instinctually trying to bring his hands to his neck, but unable to. Instead, he struggled in impotence and cut his wrists violently. He kept coughing, and Lydia closed her eyes, feeling droplets of blood splattered over her hair. 

It didn't matter. She'd been born with a flame. In the night, it seemed ghostly and silver. It had always been meant to dye crimson. One way or another, she was vampire.

After a few seconds of his agony, Lydia finally withdrew the knife. She opened her eyes to the picture of Theo's severe anxiety. The wound itself healed quickly, his windpipe rebuilding itself, as he gained the competence to breathe again. The smeared blood remained, though, unshakable proof of what she'd done to him. She put that heart to race, and she'd made those eyes shrink with the most primal emotion: fear.

She felt a rush of adrenaline, pure attraction, the impulse to be  _closer_. Her hips wanted to grind forward, to connect them both and be flush with his. She knew a better way to sate that need, though. 

Lydia felt the hint of her fangs protrude as she stabbed him between the ribs, again and again. She was not vicious, instead methodical and calm. She was not new to it. The special blade was bound to make him feel enhanced pain. It elicited some sharp screams from Theo, now that his throat was whole anew, though he tried so hard to remain silent. He gritted his teeth, biting his own tongue and lips. The smell of blood was thick in the air and it spoke to her instincts. It was only a matter of time before he'd crack. 

She spoke in German to him for the first time in the night.

"Pain is a language we all understand, in the end", she said, "and I'm fluent."

He looked at her defiantly, still fighting to catch his breath.

"I ask. You respond. Is that clear?", she asked deadpan. 

He laughed. A rough, joyless, long laughter that didn't sit well with her.

"This is going to be a long night", she said, as she plunged the knife deep.

It was deep enough to collapse his lung, so he stopped laughing with a last strong exhale.

*

"Fucking frigid bitch", Theo spat out, lips bloody.

She kept singing while he kept being unreasonable. He attempted to insult her pathetically. Called her foolish things, ideas with which men controlled and hurt women. But she was no longer a woman, and he was no longer a man. Not in there. That was society's game, a theatrical play of empty roles and traditions to pursue life under its yoke. To control individuals, make them breed and make everything into the same mindless shape for the next generation. But here, in her game, it was death which prevailed. They were the endgame. Vampires didn't answer to human truths. And she vowed to make him understand.

 _"Дадим отпор душителям_  
Всех пламенных идей,  
Насильникам, грабителям,  
Мучителям людей!"

(We shall repulse the oppressors  
Of all ardent ideas.  
The rapists and the plunderers,  
The torturers of people.)

He was indeed tough; only not as much as he believed. 

"You don't really understand violence at all", she said, and for the first time seemed to spark his interest. Theo raised his eyebrows. 

Satisfied she got his attention, but determined to remind him his position, she cupped his jaw. Her thumb dug into the skin of his cheek, raking through the scruff. He looked down briefly, surprised at the contact, before trying to look away. Her grip held his head firmly in place, though.

"Huh?", he said disoriented, and she let go.

She turned his back on him, and kept speaking as she went back to the kitchen.

"Violence is our truth, yours and mine", she said clearly, "and people may think we're alike, but we're _very_ different."

Theo frowned, turning to look at his wrist. He'd dug so hard he could no longer move his hands, having cut the tendons. But it would heal. Everything healed, or so he'd thought.

"Life as it is, our violence is necessary. It is art.  _My_ people are composing the greatest play of humankind. We play for everyone, _because_ of everyone, we're the war to end wars. We aim to erase the inequality that moves human conflict, so _your_ monsters can be put to rest", she rambled.

She came back soon enough, holding the metallic cylinder that contained what she'd prepared earlier. The werewolf felt a chill.

"Not that there aren't monsters in all of us", she said with a soft smile, "But your people's violence? It's a cacophony. A self-indulgent ideology based on a lie", she said, coming close to his ear, "the lie you've told yourselves since you were born."

" _the lie that you're special_ ", she whispered.

The German felt a shiver run down his spine. 

She stepped back, and coolly started spraying his torso with the silver colloid. 

She'd been wrong. Theo wasn't _that_ tough. Nobody was. Because, in the end, everyone was indeed made of the same thing. Everyone was equal. She rediscovered as she heard all the noises a hurt werewolf could make. It started with a litany of growls and huffs, then barely vocalized blasphemies, but it all died out into mostly just screams of agony. His skin stopped healing back the burns, and it wasn't much later that the begging started.

Theo Raeken wasn't the easiest nut to crack, but he cracked.

*

Lydia kept singing. It was her self-imposed duty.

 _"Не смеют крылья чёрные_  
Над Родиной летать,  
Поля её просторные  
Не смеет враг топтать!"

(The black wings shall not dare  
Fly over the Motherland,  
On her spacious fields  
The enemy shall not dare tread!)

“Please, I told you everything, please, stop, I beg of you.”, Theo implored with a weak voice. He looked scared, eyes shiny with tears.

This time it was genuine. She'd let him heal his skin back. Several times. He coughed a lot of blood, and she avoided the mess. 

 _"Гнилой фашистской нечисти_  
_Загоним пулю в лоб,_  
_Отребью человечества_  
_Сколотим крепкий гроб!"_

(We shall drive a bullet into the forehead  
Of the rotten fascist filth,  
For the scum of humanity  
We shall build a solid coffin!)

Lydia came to the realization her own breathing was labored. A human reflex that she didn't usually experience anymore. _Usually_. More importantly, she was wet. She was holding the the knife with a firm grip, blade bloody from where she'd sunk it into Theo's guts. She felt tingly all over, but she couldn't show weakness. Even if she felt hot, it was pointless to indulge, right? Perhaps that was all that Theo had to give for the night, and she was losing very important and limited time.

After all, she couldn't do anything during the day, and she had to train Stiles.

She looked at him directly, and that alone made Theo shudder. He was crying now, tears rolling down his cheeks and falling over the blood on the floor. It went straight to her clit, and that moment she knew she'd get off to it, be it now or later. Fuck time. The fact that he finally understood what she meant - the bane of his life - for someone who'd thought himself invincible and powerful, that was unique. She cherished the sensation and finally choose to let go.

She plunged forward, almost biting into his neck but stopping right in the last second. He shuddered again. Theo's heart rate spiked, and the sound of rattling chains filled the room. She could feel his pulse right below, so much blood waiting to surface. 

 _"Священная война!"_ , she whispered, and then she moved away.

Supernaturally fast, Lydia positioned herself behind him in the blink of an eye. 

Then she bit hard into his jugular, making him gasp and all his muscles go tight. She hooked an arm under his shoulder as he moaned, fingers tracing his biceps as the other hand's spread over his abs. She pressed forward, grinding against his ass, and felt a wave of pleasure course through her body.

She pulled away with a hiss. It was too passionate.

_Not like this._

She could've made the bite hurt, but she hadn't. Her hand ran down Theo's happy trail, and below. She cupped him outside his pants, making him shudder another time for a completely different reason. He was hard.

That was certainly unique too. But she'd already suspected about the exact nature of his relationship to violence. A smirk appeared in her face. 

Lydia put distance between herself and Theo, and walked to stand in front him as she regained composure. She clenched her fists.

"You're so unprepared", she said, assessing him with his gaze, "A hypocrite. To ask for mercy, and pretend you deserve other than pain, when you've embraced it in the past so freely. Tell me, did you wish it was him hurting you? Control your own fall, suicidal coward?"

He stopped breathing for a moment, looking at her with wide eyes. His expression was contorted into something pitiable, rage still overpowered by shame and pain. The bite mark made a mess of his neck, slowly pouring lines of red down his shoulder and arm.

He started sobbing this time, and she let out a joyless huff. 

"We're done for the night", she announced, "I'll put the electricity back on."

" _No, wait_!", he blurted desperate, almost choking on his own words. 

She stopped walking abruptly and turned back to address him. 

"I know you haven't _really_ told me anything yet. We're gonna have more than one chat, fascist. And you're not going to be so strong when the exhaustion builds up."

 _You will spill more than a few tears for Stiles_ , she thought to herself.

It was a challenge to remain as neutral as she wanted to be, because the bond she's established with her progeny was as strong, if not more, as that between parent and child. She knew Theo would never fully grasp the pain he'd inflicted on the Pole. It was just too much for an equal payback to be feasible.

But curse the heavens if she wasn't going to try.

Theo stared at her blankly, taking in a deep breath, expectant. She turned to walk away, and didn't look back this time.

He whimpered when the electricity was on again. 

*

 _"...Пусть ярость благородная_  
_Вскипает, как волна!_  
_Идёт война народная,_  
_Священная война!"_

(...Let noble wrath  
Boil over like a wave!  
This is the peoples' war,  
a sacred war!)

Lydia panted, bracing herself against the wooden door. She had a tight grip over the handle, so tight it made her knuckles go white. The taste of pure blood still lingered in her mouth. Her climax hit hard and rough, forcing a scream out of her. She stood shaky through the aftermath.  

She clung to the memory of shallow breaths and pleas of mercy. 

**Author's Note:**

> War song used: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Sacred_War


End file.
